John reached up to grab the bright orange box. He flipped it around: 203 calories per serving. He placed it in the shopping cart, folded his elbows and chest over the handle and let his weight guide it forward; it was the absolute laziest way to move.

Do the calories even matter? Elin had probably forgotten she’d even said he was a “blubbery mess”.

He rolled to the end of the isle, and opened the box, in a small act of rebellion. “That’s illegal, you know,” she’d said the first time he’d done that.

“But I’m buying it in 15 minutes, it’s mine.”

“I’ll pay — don’t eat,” she’d said coolly. She trotted out of view, around the corner into the dairy section, unflappable and indignant.

John grabbed a handful and crunched them in his mouth. He felt the sugar melt on his tongue, and then get lost in the coarse, salty wheat.